Locus of Control
by plane852
Summary: Temporarily discontinued. The Decepticons have come up with a new way to gain control of Earth. Unfortunately for John Watterson, a NYSE trader, he is a key part of the plan, and the Autobots are desperate to keep him in "protective custody." ...Uh-huh.
1. Code Red

**Chapter One**

"Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing." - _Optimus Prime_

Matt Pennington knew it was going to rain.

The sun was viciously beating down on the New York City asphalt, making it nearly unbearable to stand out in the street for more than a few seconds. Amid a bright blue sky, clouds were already popping up and growing. If Matt was a storm chaser, then he wouldn't mind sitting outside all day waiting for the rain to come.

_If _he was a storm chaser.

Matt had admired the weather since the day he was born in Oklahoma City. During the summer, nasty thunderstorms raged through the city, bringing surprises like hail and heavy winds that kept him glued to his house window. Fierce tornadoes lured him outside during his adolescent years with a video camera, and the occasional tropical storm prompted Matt to sit out in the garage, enjoying the wind and rain.

His parents, however, were not so keen to follow his interests. Luke Pennington, his father, was a security guard at the University of Oklahoma. Matt was not interested in his father's occupation, even when the burly man marched over the threshold of their front door with a few confiscated weapons he had managed to smuggle past his boss.

His mother stayed at home, cooking amazing meals and cleaning the house. She didn't mind his interest in weather, but she thought Matt took it too far by trying to get as close to storms as he could. She acted as if he was an immature child, but she was secretly worried for her son.

At the end of Matt's senior year at the University of Oklahoma, the new graduate walked into his home, announcing loudly that he was going to work at the National Weather Service. His mother embraced him, excited that he was pursuing his dreams. His father, however, had enough.

That evening, he and his father flew into the Big Apple. Matt had the impression it was a graduation trip. But the next day, any thoughts of a fun-filled trip were thrown out the window when he went to the New York Stock Exchange.

"Son," he father said proudly, glancing back and forth between a giant American flag and Matt, "You have been hired to work at the exchange as a security guard." Matt's heart sunk farther at that instant than any other time in his life.

He protested. He begged. He even cried to his father, begging him to let him return to Oklahoma, but it was all in vain. A waving hand out of a bright yellow taxi was the last time he saw his father.

Ten years later, Matt was drenched in his own sweat under a sweltering New York sun. But he had gotten used to it. After ten summers of being a security guard in New York City, he was used to all of the side effects of standing outside in downtown New York during the summer.

"You know," Matt began to say, glancing over at his partner, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually liking this job."

Jacob Loudon laughed. He had been Matt's supervisor during the first year he was a security guard, and then became his partner for the rest of Matt's career.

"What on earth makes you say that?" Jacob snickered, ushering a few traders into the building behind them.

"I don't know," Matt said, leaning onto a pole. "I guess New York gave me a change of heart." Jacob laughed again.

"Unbelievable," his partner chuckled. "After fifteen years on the job, I'm actually eager to quit and find a better job." Matt smircked. He had the impression Jacob didn't enjoy being a security guard since the day he met the man.

A swarm of traders came up to the security checkpoint, and after Matt questioned one about a suspicious bulge in the pants that turned out to be a badly placed Blackberry, they were gone. He peered down the street, looking for more traders, when he saw a small, young man wearing a security uniform.

"Um, Jacob?" His partner looked up from a discarded newspaper laying at his feet.

"Who is that?" Both pairs of eyes looked down the street to the guard, who was now strolling confidently down the street.

"Uh-oh," Jacob groaned, quickly refocusing on the newspaper. "New guy." Matt raised his eyebrows, confused.

"What's so bad about a new guy?"

"Every new guy has this personality quirk that makes him the most annoying person on Earth. The last new guy I had to work with loved to tap dance during his spare time. Ugh, and he had _no _style."

Matt grinned. He could easily picture Jacob doing everything in his power to look like he did not work with the tap dancing lunatic.

"What's up?" All thoughts of Jacob and the tap dancer vanished as Matt turned and rested his eyes on the man that stood before him now. He was well built, and about 6 feet tall. He looked like an ordinary person, except for a huge mustache that covered his entire mouth.

"How's it going?" Matt and Jacob both muttered. Matt was gazing curiously at the new guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jacob staring intensely at an ad for a used car.

"What's your name?" Jacob asked after an awkward silence.

"Charles," the new guy replied. Matt reeled back in surprise. For a minute, he could have sworn the mustache was the one speaking.

"Well, Charles," Matt replied, still transfixed on the mustache. "You know what to do. Get to work." Charles gave them both a salute and quickly began ushering traders into the exchange. By nine that morning, Charles' work had impressed Matt and earned a reluctant "good job" from Jacob.

"This guy actually doesn't seem too bad," Matt observed. Charles was searching a trader who had set off the metal detector. Jacob briefly looked up at the new recruit.

"You just wait," he replied. "He'll be annoying you before you know it."

Jacob's prediction came true a half-hour later. Matt had picked up a copy of the New York Times and was flipping through it. Jacob was relaxing under an umbrella he had somehow confiscated from a broker.

"Two-thousand Ford Explorer, celery green." Matt looked up from his newspaper into the street, where a car of that description slowly drove by.

"So this is what you do during break," Jacob said, glancing towards Charles. "You analyze cars." Charles nodded, still looking at the traffic on Wall Street.

"New York City Taxi, Code G-Seven-G-Eight, Cash Cab Taxi." Matt groaned, and then looked over to Jacob, whose face was contorted with rage. His hands were visibly shaking, and Matt almost thought he saw the right hand reaching for a pistol. Stifling a laugh, Matt returned to the newspaper.

"Chevrolet Camaro, 2006 model, bright yellow with black stripes." Matt looked back up from the paper again, but this time looking for the car. Sure enough, a sleek yellow car passed the exchange. As it rounded the corner, several passerby gazed at the vehicle in awe.

"You don't see _that_ type of car here everyday," Jacob observed, whose fury was somewhat smothered by his interest in the car. "He's just asking for that thing to get stolen." Matt nodded in agreement. Driving a Camaro around New York City was the equivalent of leaving an expensive piece of jewelry out in an unlocked house at night.

No one spoke for about an hour except for Jacob, who muttered something about not getting paid enough. Matt had put down the newspaper, still looking at the corner where the Camaro had turned. He felt uneasy about the car, and had a small urge to go look for it.

"Hey!" Charles exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Looks like Mister Camaro decided to make a return trip!" Matt jumped out of his chair, looking down Wall Street. Sure enough, the exact same Camaro was cruising down the street, at a much slower pace.

"Why is he driving so slow?" Charles asked. Matt shrugged his shoulders, looking for the driver of the car. The windshield was so dark, however, that he couldn't see a face.

"A more important question would be, why has the car stopped?" Jacob replied, now looking curiously at the car. It had indeed parked in front of them, with the engine still running. Charles began to reply, but a loud burst of music interrupted him. Jacob fell out of his chair in shock, got back up, and began walking towards the car.

"Hey! HEY! TURN OFF THE MUSIC RIGHT NOW!" After a few seconds, the music stopped. Matt got up and ran towards the driver's seat. He reached for the door handle, yanked open the door, and confronted an empty seat.

An eerie feeling swept through Matt's body. He knew something was different about this car. But something told him the fact that there was no driver wasn't what made it different. He peered into the back of the car and saw a suitcase.

"What's in there?" Charles asked, who was having a hard time seeing into the car. He finally opened the passenger door, and saw the suitcase. A look of fear came across his face, and before Jacob and Matt could stop him, he was running into the stock exchange.

"Charles," Matt yelled. "CHARLES!" There was no stopping him. The new guard disappeared behind the glass doors of the building.

"Call a Code Red," Matt ordered Jacob, who had just seen the luggage. "We have a possible bomb threat."

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Author Note Added 6-26-09: Woot! First chapter done! This is my first fan-fic _ever_, so I apologize if the first chapter is not all that great. Please read and review. I am desperate for reviews, so I know how I am doing on this story. Enjoy the next chapter!


	2. USDORD

**Chapter Two**

"Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it." _-Mark Twain_

"I have a lot of work to do, so please leave my office and don't come back until midday. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, shoo."

"One last question, sir. What does the 'e' in ETF stand for​?"

"GET OUT!"

A very tall, muscular and intimidating man pointed a quivering finger at the two large maple doors of his office, gazing murderously at his guest. His co-worker bowed, smiling and apparently oblivious to the fact his boss desperately wanted to stab him with a pair of scissors. After a few seconds, the young man vanished behind the colossal doors, which gently shut behind him.

The other man sitting behind the desk groaned. He already knew how much he hated his job, how much he fumed at his office, and how much he loathed the Chairman of the NYSE. But he had _never_ realized how much he disliked new traders.

The man gazed down at his Rolex. _9:05 AM. _Quietly, he walked through the doors, and into the waiting room. To his left, a row of leather chairs were lined up against a dark red wall. They were facing a large oak desk to his right. Behind it sat his secretary, rapidly typing away on her keyboard.

"I'm off to the board meeting, Sarah," the man muttered as calmly as he could. "Put all calls on hold until one in the afternoon."

"Of course, sir," Sarah McCullans said, without looking up from her computer monitor. "Have a good day."

"Good day," the man whispered to himself, leaving the office. "Yeah, right." The door to his office shut behind him, and he looked down a carpeted hallway to a single, white door at the other end. The man's fury was beginning to subside.

And so began the two thousandth and sixteenth day of John Watterson's career.

John sometimes wondered why he didn't like his new job. He was, of course, the Chief Floor Trader in the stock exchange. That was loads better than his former career as a mere stock broker for Fidelity. But every time he wondered, he quickly pushed the thoughts aside, and instead blamed the hatred on his uncontrollable anger.

Today was actually one of John's better days. For once, he hadn't screamed at his secretary, broken every pencil in his office, or cursed over the phone with his wife. _Things just might turn around, _John thought to himself as he finally reached the white door.

_Now, _John forced himself, _Put on a smile, straighten your suit, and walk in acting like you give a damn about your job. _Sighing, he turned the polished doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

The fake smile fell off of John's face as the door swung open into darkness. What was supposed to be the board room was now nothing more than pitch blackness.

_Am I late? _John looked down at his Rolex yet again. _9:08 AM. _

If any fury was still raging within John about the guest in his office, it was now quickly replaced with a twinge of fear and curiosity. There was always someone in the room after nine o'clock, so why were the lights out?

Slowly, he groped his way through the darkness. He tried to make it to what he believed was his seat before the door closed, but before he could make it halfway across the room, the door slammed shut, enveloping John in darkness.

_What in God's name is going on here? _His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and he soon could make out the outline of his seat. Still cautious, he pulled the chair out and silently sat down.

A blinding light suddenly ripped the darkness in half. John screamed, trying to see from who or what the light was coming from. He threw his hands over his face, doing anything he could to keep the light away from his eyes and rendering him blind...

"SURPRISE!"

John kept his eyes closed. He didn't know if it was a good or bad surprise, but he wasn't too keen to find out.

"Uh-oh," said a rumbling voice. "Did we kill him?" John heard a groan.

"If we did," muttered a female voice. "We are _so _fired."

John slowly cracked open his eyes. He could barely see William Barnett and Abby Terban, his two co-workers. Sighing, he leaned forward and looked around.

A cheer erupted from the room, as John glanced around the board room. Balloons were scattered all over the walls, and large ribbons were draped from one corner of the room to the other. In the middle of the table was a cake with a single candle and zig-zagging lines on top.

"Uh, folks?" John groaned as eight pairs of eyes looked towards him. "Today isn't my birthday." The man to his immediate right laughed.

"We know that," he smirked. "We're celebrating your eighth year of work here at the exchange!" A round of applause broke out. John groaned again. Amid all the shouting this morning, he had completely forgotten about his eighth anniversary.

"Thanks," John muttered, his mood beginning to lighten. "I like the pattern on the cake."

"It was actually supposed to say 'Happy Eighth Anniversary'," a woman at the other end of the table said, "But William over here doesn't have the best handwriting." William's face turned a bright red. John chuckled to himself, looking at the cake.

"As much as I'd like to celebrate," John said, putting on an actual smile, "We need to hurry this meeting up. Anne, how are futures looking right now?" The woman to his left picked up a wad of papers in front of her.

"As of nine this morning," Anne stated, "Futures are –"

_BANG._

Every single person in the room fell out of their chairs, panicking. John pulled himself up and frantically looked around for the source of the commotion. He looked towards the doorway, and saw a security guard with a feared look in his eye.

"What on Earth was _that _about?" John shouted over the yells of his partners.

"Get out of the building!" the guard shouted back. "There's a bomb in front of the exchange!" At the word "bomb," the shouting stopped, and everyone stared back at the man in the doorway.

"_What?" _

"GET OUT OF HERE _NOW!_" the guard shouted. He glanced around the room and then bolted away. Everyone's attention turned to John.

"You heard the guy," John yelled. "MOVE IT!" He pulled Anne and William up, and quickly followed the security guard.

John ran back towards his office, then hurriedly opened a door on his right. In front of him were the front doors of the exchange, but hundreds of people were blocking the view outside. The guard was nowhere to be seen. John paused, then ran out of the exchange with his board members right behind him.

After pushing through the large crowd, John finally made it out towards the street. In front of him was were two more security guards, blocking off the path towards the street. Just beyond them rested a yellow car with its engine running. He instantly recognized the car as a Chevy Camaro.

"Holy cow," John slowly whispered to himself. "That's one heck of a car." One of the security guards overheard him.

"Yeah," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "It makes you wonder why someone would put a bomb in a car worth about thirty-thousand dollars." A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, as John continued to look at the car.

"The bomb is in the _car?_" The other guard sighed.

"Well, not exactly." John looked at him curiously. "There's this suitcase in the backseat of the Camaro. Chances are, it's just abandoned, but that _idiot_ over there..." The man gestured towards a third guard literally pulling traders out of the glass doors. John instantly recognized him as the man that disrupted his meeting.

"If it _is_ an abandoned piece of luggage," John asked, averting his attention back towards the car, "Then why would someone leave it in that nice of a car?"

Before anyone could respond, music began to play from the car at an ear-piecing volume.

"_I'm...too sexy for my car...too sexy for my car...too sexy by far..."_

Everyone was wincing and covering their ears. John's eardrums were giving him so much pain that he had collapsed onto his knees. He could barely make out the shouts of the guards.

"CHARLES!" one of the guards screamed. "TURN THE MUSIC OFF!" The guard near the doors rushed out to the car and began adjusting the radio dials. After a few seconds, he began kicking the hood of the car. The music finally stopped.

John was still on his knees, with his hands firmly clamped over his ears. He had never heard music ever being played that loud.

"You okay?" asked one of the guards, his hand reached out towards John. He nodded, and stood back up. His gaze was still glued onto the car. John didn't know why, but he had the feeling this Camaro was unique from others.

"This car is crazy!" shouted the guard named Charles, who was furiously pointing at the hood of the car. "Something is seriously wrong with this car, and I don't mean mechanical problems–"

"Not mechanical?" A cold, yet very clear voice carried over the chatter of everyone outside the building. John looked to his left, and saw a large group of people walking towards the car. They were all wearing jackets with the letters FBI etched into the backs. Only one person wasn't wearing a jacket. He was a tall man, almost six feet tall. He had piercing eyes, and his slightly curly hair was a perfect shade of black.

"Who the hell are you?" asked the guard nearest John. The man quickly turned to face him.

"I am Agent Sierra," the man said. "I lead the USDORD."

"The _what?_" John piped up. Agent Sierra briefly glanced at him.

"USDORD," he sneered. "The United States Department of Robotic Defense."

"Robotic defense?" Charles the guard asked. "What is that?"

"I am not obligated to tell you that," the agent muttered, now turning towards the car. "I can only tell you that we are here to seize that so-called bomb in this very...interesting Camaro." John tensed up. He could tell that Agent Sierra knew something was unusual about the car as well. But instead of speaking, he watched as one of the FBI agents carefully pulled out the suitcase and layed it on the cement. Agent Sierra slowly walked towards it, gazing at the handle.

"Who," he asked, still looking at the suitcase, "has the initials JHW?" John froze. Sierra smirked.

"There are only two people here with those initials," Sierra whispered, now looking throughout the crowd. "There is Jason Hugh Williams, and there is John Howard Watterson." John's innards went cold as Agent Sierra glanced towards him.

"You seem pretty interested in this car," Sierra continued, looking directly into John's eyes. "Why don't you come forward and open your little suitcase, John Watterson?" Another crack of thunder boomed across a now very menacing sky. Large raindrops were beginning to fall onto the scene.

John hesitated. Was this a trick to get him killed? Or was there something in there that he needed to see? John looked around. The two guards were sternly looking at him, and his fellow board members were slowly backing away. Gulping, John turned back towards Agent Sierra and began walking towards the suitcase.

A bright flash of lightning flew across the sky, and the rain suddenly began to fall in earnest. But getting wet didn't concern John. He was strictly worried about the piece of luggage lying at his knees. With trembling fingers, he reached for the two clips on the suitcase and popped them open. He closed his eyes, and silently prayed that the suitcase wasn't his carry-on to a trip to heaven. With that, he threw it open. John expected an explosion any second.

But there wasn't. The only explosion heard was a loud rumble of thunder. John opened his eyes, looking inside. He expected to see what was usually put in suitcases, but the only thing inside was a small cell phone.

John flipped it open and looked at the screen. It read "Previous Calls." There was only one phone number, and it appeared to be local.

"Six seven eight," Agent Sierra read, peering over John's shoulders, "Four six eight seven. Anyone know whose number this is?" No one answered. The agent grabbed the phone, looked at the screen, and then handed it back to John.

"Call it," he whispered. Amid the rain, John could see the agent pulling aside his sports jacket and revealing the handle of a revolver. Shuddering from both fear and the freezing rain, John reached for the "Dial" button.

A sudden whoosh of wind gusted through Wall Street at that moment, and knocked the phone out of John's hand. It went spiraling into the crowd. John turned to the south, and heard one of the guards say, "We've got a tornado on our hands."

Another great gust of wind, and suddenly a large, black funnel emerged from behind the skyscrapers. John looked into the funnel with horror, and then noticed that there was no rotation. He looked up towards the top of the tornado, and froze.

A pair of what looked like red eyes were looking right back at him.

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Author Note Added 6-26-09: I _hate _writer's block. I am not very impressed with this chapter at the moment, but I managed to get in all the details I wanted. That phone number is actually special....try and find out why.

A/N Added 6-27-09: Due to some unannounced house work, Chapter 3 will be put on hold until very late tonight. I will try to get it posted before 11:30 PM EST. I apologize for putting it off. Oh, and one last thing...all the Autobots will make a definite appearance in Chapter 4. So, for all of you waiting for Optimus and the others, they will show up probably Tuesday afternoon.


	3. At Home Base

**Chapter Three**

"FEAR is an acronym in the English language for 'False Evidence Appearing Real'." -_Neale D. Walshe_

_**Diego Garcia Air Force Base. Chagos Archipelago, Indian Ocean. 7:27 PM Local Time.**_

The Chagos Archipelago. To many, it is an insignificant group of islands in the middle of the Indian Ocean, simply existing to take up some of the space on planet Earth.

But there is more to the island than meets the eye. Anyone with a Global Positioning System should be thankful for Diego Garcia, the largest island of the archipelago, and home to one of the five monitoring stations the device uses. Great Britain and the United States share a military base on the island. Diego Garcia, however, also hides a secret that only members of Networked Elements: Supporters and Transformers, or NEST, are aware of.

Major William Lennox leaned against the only hangar at Diego Garcia Air Force Base, gazing towards the ocean. The sun was finally beginning to set, splashing a brilliant light over the island and the base. The major closed his eyes, enjoying the last rays of warmth he was going to feel for the day. The operations room inside the hangar had the notorious reputation of being uncomfortably cold, and after spending all day in there, he was not too eager to return.

Nothing of interest had occurred at the base today. Nor yesterday, or the day before. In fact, for the last week, Lennox had waited for Decepticon activity in vain. The major was desperate to go back home and see his daughter Annabelle in the States, but of course, Secretary Keller demanded that NEST stay operational after the tussle between the Autobots and Decepticons in Giza.

Lennox sighed. He could remember the meeting the members of NEST and Secretary Keller held nine days ago crystal clear.

_The room had no lighting except for the bright glow of a computer screen_, _which splashed a dim white onto the wall in front of it. The light made no effort to make the rest of the room visible; Major Lennox couldn't even see Chief Master Sergeant Robert Epps, who was sitting less that half-a-foot away from his left. The major did, however, hear the heavy breathing of every NEST member in the vicinity._

_The door which through the soldiers had entered opened yet again, and every soldier instantly stood at attention. They didn't need light to know that Secretary of Defense John Keller was about to start the meeting. He walked in front of the computer screen and faced Lennox and the other men. With the eerie lighting, the Secretary looked abnormally tired._

"_Please be seated," Keller ordered. There was a scraping of chair legs as everyone sat down and pulled their seats towards the computer._

"_I know you men have been through a lot over these last couple of days," the Secretary began, glancing around the room. "So I'll make this as brief as I possibly can."_

"_Approximately three hours ago, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration detected an attack of one of their communications satellites. They believe it was jammed by electromagnetic disturbances from the sun. We, however, found evidence that the attack was caused by the Decepticon Soundwave. He, however, has fled." Lennox buried his head into his cupped hands._

"_And why are you telling us this?" the major asked coldly. He looked up and saw Secretary Keller staring daggers right towards him._

"_The MILSTAR satellite," Keller continued, still glaring at Lennox, "captured a series of photographs just as Soundwave fled." The secretary began fiddling with the computer._

"_What you are about to see," he said, barely above a whisper, "Has been classified Top Secret." With that, he stepped away from the computer. The dim white light was replaced with a very bright image. Lennox squinted, trying to make out what was on the wall. He could see Earth at the bottom, and a satellite near the top of the photo. The damage was surprisingly severe; two very deep punctures were visible on the sides. The picture was quickly replaced with a new one, and Lennox nearly fell out of his chair._

_It was an image of the Middle East, and in the lower right-hand corner were two robots which Lennox immediately recognized as Megatron and Starscream. Megatron had half of his face ripped off, and sparks were flying behind Starscream. Both were facing towards the west and had a fiery glow surrounding them as they left the Earth's atmosphere. _

"_This last image," Keller said, "Was taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. It is also the reason that I have called you here." Another picture was splashed onto the wall, and a murmur rippled through the room._

_The photograph had captured the backsides of both Megatron and Starscream, who were in the distance. But the real gem of the picture was in the background. Lennox could clearly see a large, rocky planet, which was littered with craters._

"_Shit," Epps muttered under his breath. "Is that Cybertron?"_

"_NASA calls it KBO 3942," Secretary Keller answered, as everybody looked towards him. "But yes, it is essentially Cybertron. At least, this is what is left of the planet. Since the All Spark was destroyed two years ago, the planet has shut down and will no longer support the Decepticons or Autobots."_

"_Now, we have managed to focus on of our satellites on this celestial body, and we are monitoring its activity twenty-four seven. The leader of your organization, the Autobot Optimus Prime, has recommended that we continue to have surveillance on KBO 3942 and that NEST stay operational indefinitely."_

"_As part of the United States government, I see no real reason that this organization should stay operational. However, I have no control over NEST, so I cannot hinder any orders or recommendations from your superior. If you want to know why you are staying at Diego Garcia, ask Optimus Prime, and not me. Am I clear, Major?" Secretary Keller asked, gazing towards Lennox. The soldier didn't respond. He was staring at the table in deep thought._

"_Major?" Still no response._

"Major?" Lennox's eyes opened and were immediately confronted by a much darker sky. _Was the Keller, or was that someone else?_

"Major," a voice said, penetrating the quiet base. Lennox looked up to his right. There was Ratchet, a thirty-foot tall yellow robot. He was the medic of the Autobots, and was infamously known for his tactless statements he made around both humans and his kind. Lennox snickered as he recalled Ratchet loudly announcing Sergeant Epps was "aroused" as he walked by one of the female soldiers.

"It is unusual for a human to laugh with these abnormally high stress levels," the Autobot stated, leaning down and gazing at Lennox with gentle blue optics. "Are you okay?"

The major didn't answer. He was drowning in deep thought. _Am I okay? Hell, I already know I'm stressed out. I'm ready to go home, my shifts here are long and boring, and I still have no idea why Optimus wants to keep NEST operational! So yes, I am stressed out. I guess that means I'm not okay! _Lennox practically wanted to scream at the robot in front of him.

"I'm fine, Ratchet," the major said, smiling at the medic. Ratchet continued to stare at him. Lennox's smile fell off his face.

"You think I'm lying, don't you?" he asked sternly. The robot's optics became piercing bright.

"Your body suggests otherwise," Ratchet answered. "Something is causing your body to tense and your stress levels to...as you humans put it...go through the roof." Lennox continued to stare daggers at the medic, and then sighed and put his head down.

"Let's just say I'm questioning a few events in my life," the major replied. Ratchet opened his mouth, but Lennox interrupted him. "And let's leave it at _that."_ The medic nodded his head and walked back into the hangar. The major continued to stare at the exact spot where Ratchet's head had been.

Actually, there were only two things Lennox was questioning, and one was his trust in Optimus Prime. Ever since the major had encountered the Autobot leader in Mission City two years ago, he had seen a reason for every military action Optimus had put through. But this constant tracking of Cybertron did not make any sense to Lennox. He remembered Ratchet telling him during his first few days at NEST that it takes serious time for robotic wounds to heal. It would take almost a full year for Megatron to heal. So why was Optimus focusing on Cybertron a mere nine days after Megatron and Starscream arrived there? The major still didn't know.

The other was the absence of Bumblebee from the base. Normally the yellow Autobot was happily romping around the hangar with his radio blaring. The last three days, however, had been unusually quiet. Lennox had asked Optimus about the mech's absence, but the Autobot merely said Bumblebee was heading back to the States for some unfinished work. The major knew Optimus was hiding something, but he had yet to figure out what.

"Major!" Lennox snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head to see his partner and friend, Master Chief Sergeant Robert Epps.

"Ironhide has been looking for you, man," the sergeant said, glancing back into the hangar. "I'd go talk to him quick, 'cause he is getting _really _angry." Ironhide was the Lennox family guardian and the weapons specialist of the Autobots. He was always eager to shoot his cannons, and they always came out when he was upset. Lennox nodded and ran back into the hangar, bracing for an explosion any second.

The hangar was gigantic. When it was originally built, it had the exact dimensions of a football field: nearly four hundred feet in length and almost two hundred feet wide. But since the Autobots had called the hangar home two years ago, efforts were made to make the mechs as comfortable as possible. Military engineers immediately began to tear the building down and reassemble it as fast and as efficiently as possible. After four months, a significantly taller, longer, and wider hangar was completed and deemed official headquarters.

Every Autobot had a station somewhere in the structure. Ratchet was working in a make-shift medical bay about a quarter of the length down the left wall. Lennox could clearly see deep concentration in the medic's optics as he attempted to repiece Jazz, a very upbeat fighter who ripped up like a mere sheet of paper by Megatron. Halfway across the right wall was a group of computers a good forty feet off the ground. In front of them stood a blue and red robot which the major instantly recognized as Optimus Prime.

Near Ratchet were two silver robots. One was spinning his blades around, showing them off to the other robot. Lennox grinned. Sideswipe was extremely cocky, especially on the battlefield. It was not uncommon to hear a loud "_Damn, am I good_" being shouted amid rapid gunfire. The silver mech standing next to him was the newest addition to the team, named Jolt. Just like his name implied, the Autobot had a thing with electricity. Lennox stared at them for a few seconds, then looked around the hangar again. _Where is Ironhide?_

The giant black mech, it turns out, was standing near the entrance of the hangar, and Lennox could tell he was extremely irritated. His cannons were out and glowing furiously, and his face was contorted in rage.

"Major Lennox!" Ironhide boomed in an eerie voice. "Permission to fire on those two imbeciles!" The Autobot gestured over to two considerably smaller robots fooling around at the other end of the hangar. Lennox groaned.

"_No!" _the major sternly ordered, immediately breaking out in a sweat. "What did they do to you?"

"The fools tried to deactivate my cannons," the weapons specialist muttered, regretfully putting away his arsenal. "One more prank from Mudflap and Skids, and Ratchet will have his damn hands full!" Lennox began sweating more profusely. The twins were always pulling pranks on various members of NEST, and it was rare for them not to get themselves into trouble.

"That," the major warned, still staring at the twins, "Would not be the brightest of ideas." Ironhide let out a metallic whine, gazing reproachfully and furiously at his master. Lennox's gaze turned sternly to Ironhide, and he walked off after a few seconds, muttering in Cybertronian. The major wasn't completely sure, but he suspected most of the muttering was cursing. Shaking his head, he walked over to the array of computers where the red-flamed robot was standing.

"Optimus!" Lennox hailed, climbing up a ladder next to the robot that led to the computers. The Autobot leader turned his head and laid his blue optics upon the soldier.

"Good day to you, Major," the Autobot leader greeted in a deep, booming voice. "Returning to monitor duty, are you?" Lennox nodded his head.

Monitor duty was by far the worst job to have after latrine duty. It simply involved staring at a digitized Mercator projection of the world and waiting for a blinking dot. The specks represented a Cybertronian's location on Earth, and not a single spot had appeared on the screen for the last seven days. The only sign of activity came two days after the battle in Egypt, when Ratchet had accidentally left his transponder on during a short trip to Washington D.C. A single yellow dot flashed on the East Coast that afternoon. No red dots, indicating Decepticons, had shown up since the meeting with Secretary Keller.

Major Lennox sighed. _Monitor duty._ Although it wasn't as bad as unclogging the smelliest toilets on the face of the Earth, it was obscenely boring. Optimus, however, had been generous enough to provide a television for whoever was on duty. During times with no activity on the radar, Lennox would often watch the news to catch up with events in the rest of the world. It was difficult to know what was going on around him when he was stuck on a small island.

Optimus was analyzing a separate screen that was adjacent to the map. On it was a satellite feed of the same celestial body Keller had shown the members of NEST. Cybertron, KBO 3942, the name didn't matter to the Autobots or humans. They had a lock on Megatron and Starscream's location, and that was a huge step in preventing another attack on Earth.

Lennox glanced over at the Autobot, who was watching the screen like a nail-biting football game, or whatever Cybertronian sport mechs played. The look raised the doubtful thoughts swirling around the major's mind. Optimus knew something was going on over at a rocky planet even farther away than Pluto, his look made that clear. Away from the screen, however, he had a cool, collected look in his optics that gave Lennox the impression there was nothing to worry about. More than ever, he wanted to ask the Autobot leader why NEST was still under operation after the incident in Egypt.

But he didn't. As much as the soldier questioned the robot's motives, there was still a small sliver of trust that kept the two organisms bonded. If Optimus was seeing a possible threat hundreds of millions of miles away, then Lennox would continue monitoring for a threat on home ground.

Optimus's optics shifted briefly from the satellite image to Lennox, who quickly refocused his attention on the map. As he expected, not a single speck was showing on the map. Bumblebee had smartly turned off his transponder, so Lennox couldn't see him either.

"I'm going to watch the news," the major announced to no one in particular. Optimus looked at him for a few seconds before staring at Cybertron once again. Hearing no objections, Lennox grabbed the remote and switched on the television.

"_...welcome back to Headline News, and of course the biggest story today is the forming of a new government branch known simply as USDORD, or the United States Department of Robotic Defense. This new military organization, as we are told, has been formed 'to protect mankind from any foreign visitors to Earth'."_

The volume on the television was exceptionally loud, and the words out of the news anchor's mouth echoed across all eight hundred feet of the hangar. Every single eyeball and optic turned away from its work to look over at the array of computers. Every soldier stood their ground at their station as they heard the news. The Autobots, however, left their stations and headed straight for the collection of computers.

"_Even more shocking was that the vote to form the new department went against a veto President Obama placed on the bill a few days prior and a strong warning to not vote on the issue ever again. Thanks to Congress, however, plus 85 billion dollars in taxpayer money, the newest military branch opened its headquarters in the Pentagon this morning."_

By now, every Autobot had gathered around the television. Lennox could hear the heavy mechanical breathing from Ironhide, who was standing right behind him.

"C'mon, man, move so we can see."

"Yeah, move it over ya big lump."

A furious growl was emitted directly behind the major, and it only took a second to realize that Ironhide had his glowing cannons pointed directly at Mudflap and Skids.

"One more remark like that," the weapons specialist whispered, barely concealing his fury, "and I'm going to perform some dentistry on that gold plate of yours." Major Lennox could barely see one of the small mechs fiddling with one of his buckteeth. With an indignant sniff, Ironhide retracted his cannons and returned his attention to the television.

"_Defense Secretary John Keller openly protested the formation of the USDORD, calling it 'a waste of money and a waste of space.' He also said that 'there is no need to form a military group in charge of eliminating mythical robots!' Secretary Keller has refused to speak to the Associated Press since the appointment of the head of the department, Agent Sierra."_

An image popped up on the screen, and several snarls were heard from the Autobots. Ironhide had his cannons out again, and the usual brightness in Optimus' optics were gone. Lennox barely managed to get his words out.

"That's no Agent Sierra," he muttered, memories flooding back into his mind. "That son of a bitch is Agent Simmons."

Agent Simmons, head of a government agency that defends against robots. Obviously, he wasn't too pleased about his performance in Egypt. Seems he was also fairly eager to rebuild Sector Seven. And the fact the Keller was furiously protesting the department shot a very cold and sobering thought into Lennox's brain.

"He's trying to get rid of us," he said, barely above a whisper. Ironhide walked over to Lennox's side and stared him straight in the eye.

"Why would this abomination try to get rid of the us?" the weapons specialist asked. Lennox could actually sense a tiny bit of fear in his voice. "Why get rid of the Autobots?" Lennox didn't answer him. He had no clue why Simmons would make an attempt at getting rid of a race that had saved his skin more than twice. The major looked over to Optimus, but the usually strong and calm leader had nothing to say. Once more, the attention was drawn to the television screen.

"_Markets dropped furiously yesterday after the news. The Dow fell a staggering two hundred eighteen points, erasing yesterday's meager gains and more."_

"_Speaking of the markets, breaking news out of New York City, where security at the New York Stock Exchange has reported a bomb on Wall Street. Josh Killwell is live at the scene."_

The image switched over to a man's face. Behind him was a scene of chaos: security guards were trying to calm down a large crowd of people in suits amid pouring rain. To the man's left was a yellow Chevy Camaro, with two distinctive black stripes down its hood. Lennox's reaction was instinctive.

"Bumblebee!" he shouted, shooting out of his chair. The Autobots continued to stare at the screen, as if nothing interesting was going on. Lennox turned his head to Optimus, who let out a heavy sigh.

"Major," he began. "There is something I must tell you. I enlighten you now because I feared that telling you beforehand would likely force you to resign from NEST." Optimus never finished his statement; the reporter had begun talking.

"_Forget the bomb, the weather is what is making news here! Look behind me, and you'll see actual bits of debris flying around. Reports of a tornado near the Brooklyn and Southern Manhattan areas have been coming in very quickly. In fact..." _The reporter turned around, and soon a gigantic black funnel came into view. _"...there it is! Boy, this doesn't look good. Move, Chad, MOVE!" _

The camera shifted upwards towards the sky towards the top of the funnel. Right before the camera switched back to the news anchor, Ironhide growled again, this time very loudly and very distinctively.

"Decepticon!" Lennox didn't respond. He couldn't believe that he would see a pair of sinister red optics after a mere nine days. He turned towards Optimus, whose optics had brightened again. He was looking at the digitized map. Two dots flashed literally on top of each other. Bumblebee's yellow dot was immediately darkened by the red dot of the Decepticon.

"Is this an isolated incident?" Ironhide directed to his leader. Optimus continued to stare at the map, then said the seven words that would stick to Major Lennox for the rest of the night.

"I fear this is only the beginning."

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A/N: Every single one of you has the right to be pissed off at me. I know I have not updated in over a month, and I have no good excuses. I will tell you that my computer has been a total jerk and crashed on me several times while making this chapter. So, as an apology, I will be updating this story much more often. As an added bonus, I will be starting a new story in honor of Apollo 11. The summary is below.

**The Secret of Apollo 11: **Forty years after the historic moon landing, a call goes out to finding missing tapes of the moon landing transmission. British scientist Joseph Marsh answers the call in Fort Worth, and makes a discovery that the United States has been trying to hide for four decades.

Yes, this is a Transformers story, so don't go all "Fiction Press" for this one. Both Chapter 4 of Robotic War and the Prologue of Apollo will be very short and both will be posted tomorrow. Apollo will be in the early afternoon, Robotic War in the early evening.

I wish you all happy reading, and for the second time, I NEED REVIEWS! They let me know how I'm doing and give me ideas for future chapters. So please, keep them coming. Huge thanks to Cassiopeia1979 for the first review.

-Plane852


	4. Locus of Control

**Chapter Four: Locus of Control**

_**Number 11 Wall Street. New York City, New York. 9:45 AM EDT.**_

For anyone living in in Mid or Uptown Manhattan, everything was as normal as could be. City sidewalks were jammed with tourists and businessmen, while the streets were overwhelmed with a swarm of yellow taxis. The wealthy poured into stores and restaurants, eager to spend money they would quickly earn back, while the poor and homeless huddled in dark alleys, committing deeds of questionable legality to get their hands on greenbacks.

In the financial district, the usual order had dissolved into chaos. Broadway was littered with abandoned cars, and subway stations were clogged with thousands of panicked commuters attempting to escape from the chaos erupting on Wall Street. The New York Stock Exchange had suspended trading for an entire day for the first time since 9/11.

All of this, of course, was because of the tornado that had eyes. Stunning, but ever-so dangerous ruby-red eyes. Eyes that were staring menacingly at a stunned John Watterson, a less-intimidating Agent Sierra, and wide-eyed FBI agents surrounding the yellow Camaro. The black, towering monstrosity and its to-be-victims exchanged a second-long stare, until a blood-curling shriek came from one of the exchange guards.

"_RUN!"_

Most tornado experts agree that if you are caught in the path of a tornado, you should get in a ditch or head for a sturdy shelter. The Big Apple, where it lacks in ditches, makes up for it in sturdy shelters. The stock exchange next door to the commotion would have been more than suitable to keep the crowd safe. Instead, heeding the guard's recommendation, the panicking crowd began to sprint northward. Outrunning a tornado is probably one of the dumbest things one could do.

Watterson realized that as he turned north on Broadway. Behind him, he could hear a strangely metallic roar come from the twister as it began twisting through Southern Manhattan. As he passed the Trinity Church, he glanced behind him. A massive debris cloud was severely obscuring the tornado, but its red eyes were as clear as day. John could have sworn the eyes began to narrow, but a violent gust of wind reminded him to run, not stare like a dumbfounded buffoon.

Running, however, quickly became a futile option. Within seconds, the tornadic "thing" was barring down on John, and the wind blasts coming behind him prevented any headway down Broadway. He could barely stay on his feet. Looking behind him one more time, John could see the red-eyed devil slowly bear down on him. The outer boundaries of the debris cloud passed over the doomed trader, and suddenly the true intensity of the storm became apparent. Cars, blaring their horns in desperation, were rapidly being thrown around John. Closing his eyes, he quietly began to pray. Hopefully, calling his wife a "cold-hearted bitch" day after day wouldn't prevent his entrance to heaven.

More horn blasts came from the street. John refused to look. Another, much louder blare forced John to look up. Somehow, a debris-coated car was still on the ground. Its headlights were pointed directly in his face, and he could barely make out an open door on the passenger side. With a final burst of adrenaline, John slowly began to crawl down the street towards his only ticket of survival. Debris was hitting him left and right; his body was screaming in pain, begging him to just stop and get sucked up. He refused to heed to the protests, dragging himself on what seemed to be an endless path towards safety. After a final scrape of the knee and a painful blow to the head, John pulled himself into the car. The door quickly slammed shut, and suddenly he was being catapulted backwards down Broadway. As the car made a furious u-turn and began speeding east towards the Brooklyn Bridge, John turned to confront his savior.

The driver's seat was empty.

_**Diego Garcia Air Force Base. 7:55 PM Local Time.**_

If anyone had been working diligently in the hangar in the last five minutes, they were now glued to the television surrounded by other soldiers and mechs. The screams of a tornado echoing around the building were enough to capture even Rachet's attention, whose eyes had been glued on a repair he was making on Jazz.

Lennox was in shock. First the news of Simmons heading an anti-robot agency in the Pentagon, now a Decepticon attack in New York City. What frustrated him the most, however, was Bumblebee's appearance on television and radar. Unless Witwicky had suddenly gained an interest in finance, the Autobot had no business in the Big Apple. Of course, unless Optimus was hiding something.

Lennox's leader was still glancing at the TV, as aerial pictures of the Decepticon displayed widespread damage across downtown New York. His optics were slightly faded, as the risk of human fatalities became inevitable. The last thing that Optimus wanted – that any member of NEST wanted – was innocent human sacrifice.

"So," the captain finally mustered to Prime after staring at the television, "you were going to tell me something." Optimus turned to his human ally and nodded. "Well, enlighten me. Enlighten everyone here, while you're at it." Lennox's anger was slowly becoming harder to conceal.

The Autobot let out a metallic sigh and turned to confront the rest of the crowds. The other mechs were strangely emotionless. Other soldiers, including a frantically whispering Sergeant Epps, were now focused on Optimus, ready to hear his story.

"Most of you will probably remember the meeting Secretary Keller held about a week ago," Optimus began to rumble. "For those of you who weren't there, we were ordered to keep an eye out for Decepticon activity, like the incident that is happening now."

"Which we aren't slagging helping with," Ironhide grumbled, looking clearly irritated. It earned him a stern stare from Prime.

"_Anyway," _the Autobot leader resumed. "After the meeting, the Secretary dropped me a message via Galloway." Lennox groaned. Galloway, one jack-ass of a politician who never really established an alliance with the Autobots. Lennox still remembered when the man was literally yanked out of a military plane via parachute. When Optimus had gotten wind of the story, he was greatly amused.

"Our good friends in the communications sector of NEST had apparently intercepted a message from KBO 3942," Prime continued.

"Cybertron," Epps said, impatiently staring up at the television. "So, what did it say?"

"The message was in Cybertronian, so the message was directly forwarded to me," Optimus responded. "It simply said, 'Begin Phase One of Locus of Control.' It was very confusing, since Locus of Control was not a phrase generally associated with our planet or race. We had to reference the World Wide Web."

"'Locus of Control,'" Lennox muttered. Some distant memory was stirring in his head. "I remember that phrase being big when I was a kid. My parents told me it was big in psychology." At once, a light clicked on in his head.

"Now I remember!" he exclaimed. All eyes and optics, including Prime's, were now pinned on Lennox. "It was back in the 1950s, before I was born. There was this brilliant scientist – something Rotter, I think my parents called him – who was studying social psychology. Anyway, when my parents were in their 30s, this guy came out with a theory called 'Locus of Control.'" He paused, making sure he wasn't losing anyone.

"Rotter," he continued, "saw that people had different perceptions as to why certain things happened to them. A good portion of them concluded that their own actions and decision caused certain events to occur. Rotter deemed this 'internal locus,' which meant that one believes that he controls his own life. By the end of his study, Rotter would conclude that an internal locus translated to a mentally healthy being."

"There was another portion of people, though, that Rotter noticed. As you could guess, these subjects believed that they had no control over their lives, that someone else was pulling the strings. Rotter called this 'external locus,' which is exactly what the name suggests: a belief that one's life is controlled by external forces. Crudely, the subject is a puppet being controlled by an unseen puppeteer." Beneath Lennox, the rest of the soldiers and Autobots were processing this new information.

"Thanks for a lesson in Psychology 101," Epps said, glaring at Lennox. "Tell me, though: what does that have to do with Cybertron? I can guarantee you Megatron doesn't give a shit about this Rotter crackpot. Just another human to kill, as far as he's concerned." Both he and Lennox turned their attention back to Optimus.

"Judging by what you just told me," the mech said, "It seems that the Decepticons are trying to control Earth's primary inhabitants – humans – without actually being on the planet." Curious whispers broke out in the crowd. One particular recruit shouted, "But how?"

"We have an idea," Prime said, silencing the crowd. "You see, you humans live under government, whether it be corrupt or fair. It keeps your race in order, prevents you from descending into utter chaos. Your government oversees numerous aspects of your lives, as much as some of you are not willing to admit." For a few seconds, Optimus stared at Epps.

"So you're saying that the Decepticons could go after government officials?" Epps asked, slighty curious. "Have our government do Megatron's bidding?" Optimus shook his head.

"Not your government. After passing this information onto Keller, he has informed the President and his cabinet, the Supreme Court, and every Secretary possible. Extreme precautions have been taken so that Decepticons cannot spread their false words to some of the most powerful men in the world."

"That still leaves some people vulnerable.," Optimus continued. "Megatron and his followers, once they realize that they won't sway anyone up top, will go after those just under the government, those that still have considerable influence over the public. People like Chief Executive Officers." This was met with shocked silence.

"They're going after CEOs?" Lennox asked. Optimus did a mechanical shrug.

"Possibly."

"Okay," Epps said, scratching his head. "You've given a shitload of dots and no lines to connect them with. What does any of this have to do with what's going on _now?_" For a few seconds, attention shifted back to the television. The decepticon was still wrecking havoc in the Big Apple. Optimus hesitated before answering.

"Once we figured out what 'Locus of Control' was, my logic processors began to turn," Prime answered. "If there was one sector of your lives that Megatron saw as particularly vulnerable, what would it be? By watching your news networks, the answer became clear. _Crystal _clear, as you humans might say: _finance._" Another bout of uneasy silence hit the crowd.

"For about two years now, Earth's economy has been quite weak, and it's recovery is going slower than many would hope. If the decepticons tried to influence members of that particular sector, I fear that Megatrons grip on Earth would tighten in a matter of days."

"To prevent this, I told Bumblebee to go to New York City and track a certain, highly influential individual: John Howard Watterson. He is in charge of trading at the New York Stock Exchange, and would probably be one of Megatron's first targets."

"And why is that?" Epps asked, looking confused. For him, the story was getting harder and harder to believe.

"Watterson has been put in charge of the stock exchange of one the most powerful nations in the world, one whose economy is envied by many nations. If the decepticons get a hold on him, they could make him crash the markets. If that happens, the rest of the world will follow suit. The Earth will be in a world of pain. At that point, Megatron would step in and offer to rebuild – his way. No one will have a choice."

Lennox sat in silence. It was a clever move on Megatron's part. Dastardly and cruel, but clever nonetheless. Even scarier, the plot seemed so..._doable. _If this Watterson guy fell under Megatron, the world would fall under Decepticon rule. "Royally screwed in the ass," as Epps liked to say. There was one thing that bugged Lennox.

"How can we be sure Bumblebee got this guy?" he asked, looking at the television. "Everybody ran from this thing. I highly doubt anyone would survive this out on the street." Optimus turned his attention back to the screen.

"Bumblebee is a good soldier. If I wasn't sure he could get Watterson out of danger, then he wouldn't be in New York. Besides, if everything went to plan, our man should be flying out of the city any minute now."

_**John F. Kennedy International Airport. Queens, NYC, NY. 10:05 AM Eastern.**_

John wasn't sure what scared him more: the rapid drive to Queens, or the number of black-suited men surrounding the Camaro, guns drawn. Sure, the steering wheel was moving by itself, that was odd. Yeah, the car was speeding down the streets of New York so fast that he could feel his breakfast coming back to greet him, that was slightly frightening. But, dear God, why did the radio come on blaring incoherent lyrics and radio clips every time he tried to say something? That guard was right, there was something seriously wrong with the car.

Now, with at least ten pistols aimed at his head, this experience trumped the car ride. After numerous shouts of "Get out of the god-damned car," John slowly got out of the Camaro, his hands high in the air. Raindrops were hitting him hard, and thunder was furiously booming above the airport, but there was no sign of "Satan's tornado."

"Come on," one of the agents said, yanking John by the arm down the tarmac. "Don't try anything funny, or I swear to God I will shoot you in the head. Last I heard, that doesn't feel too good." Gulping, John followed, with the rest of the men on his tail, towards a massive jet with two engines on either wing. There was a massive ramp that led to a large cargo area in the aft of the plane. Halfway down the bay, he was shoved into a rigid and uncomfortable seat and restrained by the most seat belts he had ever seen. As the rest of the group sat next to him and got strapped in, the Camaro slowly rolled into the bay.

"Where are we going?" John shouted, as the ramp began to retract the the jet's engines began to spool. The man next to him turned and stared at him.

"NEST headquarters. Diego Garcia Air Force Base." He slowly turned to face the wall opposite him as the ramp slowly shut into place. John uneasily did the same.

_What the hell am I getting myself into?_

**A/N: **It has been way too long. I'm sorry I haven't posted in ages. I would have done so in the last several months, but apparently my school doesn't like this website. Royally hates it, to be more honest.

I hope this 'Locus of Control' idea is a good theme for the story to focus around. Please, leave a review telling me what you think. Or, just review the chapter in general, I don't care. JUST REVIEW, FOR PRIMUS SAKE!

…..I think I took that too far. Oh, well.

I'll try to update late next week. Thanks for staying patient with me. If you've lost patience, I'm begging you, stick with me. You won't regret it.

Sincerely,

plane852

Oh, one more thing. I'm starting a new story alongside this one, called "The Doctor Is In." It'll be much less bland than this story. I'll have something up Monday night.


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